Late
by allthingsdecent
Summary: A little pregnancy scare for our favorite couple.


"Rachel and I are going on a hunger strike," said House, climbing into bed next to Cuddy. "We had a long talk and we agree that neither man nor toddler can live by bran flakes alone. We demand cereal with sugar in it, preferably something that ends in the word 'loops' or 'puffs.'"

He eyed her, expecting to get some sort of reaction, but instead she ignored him.

"Hello?" he said. "Anyone in there?" He waved his hand in front of her face.

She blinked.

"I'm sorry," she said, laying the book she was reading on her lap. "My mind was a million miles away."

"In that case," he said, leaning in to kiss her. "If you're not using your mind, maybe we can both use your body."

She squirmed away from him.

He sighed.

"What did I do now?" he asked wearily.

"It's not you," she said. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Like what?"

"Like. . ." she made a face as though she was weighing whether or not to tell him the truth. "I'm late."

"Late for what?"

"Late. As in my period."

House's eyes widened.

"That's impossible," he said.

"No it isn't, " she said, somewhat defensively. "I'm 42, not 52. I still menstruate, you know."

"No, what I meant was, that's impossible because you're on the pill. I see you take it, like clockwork, every day."

"Not every day," Cuddy confessed.

"So you skipped one day. Did you double up the next day? You should be fine."

"I missed 3 days," Cuddy said, putting her head in her hands.

"What? How is that even possible?"

"I kept forgetting to pick up my prescription."

"Cuddy, the pharmacy is, like, 40 feet from your office. I've heard tell of women who actually have to get in their cars and drive to pick up their birth control."

"I know. . . it slipped my mind. I was busy—it was the week I had to run that bake sale at Rachel's school, and my quarterly budget was due and I had all that paperwork for the new wing committee. . . And it's not like you ever lift a finger to help me out around here."

"Oh, so this is my fault."

"I didn't say that," she said, her voice softening.

"So how late are you?"

"Four days."

House scratched his head, tried not to look alarmed.

"I'm sure it's much ado about nothing," he said. "But we'll do a blood test tomorrow, just to confirm."

"Nuh uh," she said. "No paper trail at the hospital. I'll pee on a stick like every other panicky woman who's late with her period."

"Okay," he said. "But stop stressing. Everything's going to be fine."

"Thank you," she said, kissing him goodnight and reluctantly turning out the light. But he could practically feel the anxious energy emanating off her beside him.

An hour later, she turned the light back on.

"House, you awake?" she whispered.

"I am now," he grumbled.

"What if I really am pregnant?"

"Then your father's totally going to kill me," he cracked.

"My father's been dead for 10 years," she said.

"Oh, right."

He was trying to make her laugh. No such luck.

She closed her eyes, was quiet for a bit.

"House, have you ever been in this . . . situation before?" she finally asked.

"If you're wondering if I'm shooting blanks the answer is no. I'm fully locked and loaded, baby."

"So you have gotten a woman pregnant before."

House groaned.

"Cuddy, do you really want to go there?"

"I'm just. . .curious."

"Yes, once—at least that I know of. At Hopkins."

"And what did you do?"

"I did what any other red-blooded American college student would do: I drove her to the clinic, paid for the abortion, and never called her again."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Cuddy snorted.

"I was a jerk," he admitted.

"I'm just glad we didn't start seriously dating back at Michigan," she said.

"It wouldn't have been like that with you," he said sincerely.

"Suuure."

"I mean it."

"And what's cute is that you believe that to be true," she said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Well, what about you?" he asked. "Any secret pregnancies back in your wild youth? Did you have one of those 'Buy 4 Get the 5th One Free' cards at the abortion clinic?"

"No," Cuddy said, almost ruefully. "Even my wild youth wasn't particularly. . . wild. I've always been annoyingly responsible."

House couldn't help but to be slightly pleased that he was the cause of her first birth control transgression.

"Cuddy, just try to relax and sleep. You're not pregnant. And if you are, good luck, have a nice life, and I'll see you in 18 years."

Now she did laugh a little.

"You really are a jerk," she said.

"You're welcome," he said.

#####

Cuddy woke up before House the next morning and he didn't see her until later, at work.

He poked his head into her office.

"Any visits from Aunt Flo?" he asked. "Are you riding the crimson tide? Has the red baron made a special delivery?"

"Shut up," she said. "And no."

"Stick peeing party tonight? Your place?"

"Okay," she said meekly.

But when he got home that night, she was sitting on the couch, reading. Rachel was on the floor in front of her, drawing dinosaurs with a magic marker.

"Soooo?" he said.

"I didn't get a chance to buy it," she quietly said, glancing at Rachel in a way that suggested House should drop the subject. "I promise I will tomorrow."

"Okay," he said skeptically, flopping down next to her.

He looked down at Rachel, "Cool Tyrannosaurus Rex," he said idly.

Later, after Rachel had gone to bed, he asked, "Cuddy, what are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid. I just kept thinking—hoping I guess—that I would get my period and the whole thing would be unnecessary," she said.

"Yeah, well, wishing and hoping is always an excellent strategy."

"Look, House . .it's a major, life-changing, relationship-changing thing. So sue me if I'm a little anxious about it."

"What's the big deal?" he said. "We already have a kid. We'll just throw another one on the pile."

A pleased smile formed on her face.

"What are you suddenly looking so happy about?" he asked.

"You just said, we have a kid."

"No I didn't. I said you have a kid."

"No, you distinctly said we."

"No. . .I didn. . .Whatever. Buy the test Cuddy, or I'm drawing blood while you sleep."

#######

"What did you do to Cuddy this time?" Wilson asked, sitting down in the chair across from House's desk.

House narrowed his eyes.

"Why? What did she tell you?"

"Nothing. She's just been in a mood these past couple of days. And it doesn't exactly take a bloodhound to trace the source of her bad moods directly back to you."

"She thinks she's knocked up," House said casually.

"Wh-wh-what?"

"Her period is late," House said .

"And she's usually regular?"

"As regular as you are Jimmy, my boy."

"So what are you guys going to do?"

"Who knows? She's probably not even pregnant. And if she is, it's not my business. The decision is completely hers."

"Completely hers?"

"Yeah. . . whether she wants to get rid of Little Greg or keep Little Greg, I'm staying out it. . . Although I guess if she kept it, I would have to rename my penis."

Wilson looked at him in that self-satisfied way of his.

"So this baby—who probably doesn't exist and who you couldn't care less about—is a boy now, huh?"

"Or a girl," shrugged House. "Little Gregina."

"You want her to be pregnant!"

"No I don't. Don't get sentimental on me, Wilson."

"It's sweet House. You'd be a great dad. You're already becoming a great dad. . . to Rachel."

"Oh my god, why do you women all get this way when you talk about babies?"

"Have you told Cuddy how you feel?"

"No. Because I don't feel the way you think I feel. Be realistic, Wilson. I'm 51 years old. I limp. I couldn't play ball with the little tyke and I'd be dead by the time I could take him to his first strip club."

"The non-existent child you couldn't care less about seems to be a boy again," Wilson said.

"Shut up, Wilson."

######

When he got home that night, Rachel was in her high chair eating dinner and Cuddy was at the table doing a crossword puzzle.

"Two pink lines or one?" House asked.

"I promise I'll buy the test tomorrow," Cuddy said guiltily.

"That's it. We're going to the drug store right now."

"We can't. It's almost Rachel's bedtime."

"She can sleep in the car," House said. "Hey kiddo, wanna come on a road trip with me and mama?"

"Yay!" Rachel said.

House smiled.

Cuddy's shoulders slumped. Shit.

So they got Rachel's coat—a blue wool swing coat that made her look like Madeleine—and all piled into Cuddy's Acura.

Cuddy drove.

By the time they got to the drug store, Rachel was already asleep in her car seat.

"I'll wait with her," House said.

"No way! I'm not buying it. You buy it."

"What? It's a lady thing!"

"Isn't it a little beneath the dignity of the dean of medicine to be buying a home pregnancy test at a skanky drug store in the middle of the night?"

"What about my dignity?" House demanded. "Okay. . .good point."

He squinted at her.

"Rock paper scissors?"

"Fine," she said, balling her hand into a fist and shaking it. "One, two. . .three."

Cuddy did paper. House, predictably, did rock.

"Paper covers rock," she said. "I win!"

"That never made any sense to me," House said. "If I were to throw my rock from a tall building, it would totally shred your paper."

"We're not in a tall building. We're in a sedan. Go buy it."

House rolled his eyes.

He limped into the drug store. Came back a few minutes later with a bag containing the pregnancy kit and a tin of chewing tobacco.

"What the hell's that for?"

"It's to restore my masculinity. If they'd sold guns, I would've bought one of those, too."

"Throw it away, House. I don't even want that poison in my house."

House rolled down the window and tossed the tin into a trash can that was several feet away. It landed squarely in the center of the can.

"Three points!" he said triumphantly. "Who's the girly man now?"

When they got home, they put Rachel to bed and went to the bedroom.

Cuddy took the kit into the bathroom with her.

"Wish me luck," she said sheepishly.

"Good luck," he said.

He sat on the bed, waiting.

"I don't hear any peeing," he said.

"I don't have to go. . ." she said.

"Raindrops keep fallin' on my head. . ." he sang.

"You're not helping."

"Islands in the stream, that is what we are. . ." he continued.

"Still not helping."

Finally, she started to pee.

She came out of the bathroom a minute later, holding the test like it might bite.

House looked at the box.

"We're supposed to wait 5 minutes," he said.

She sat down next to him on the edge of the bed.

They waited.

"Whatever the results, we'll deal with it—together," he said, putting his arm around her, kissing the top of her head.

"Okay," she said.

After five minutes, she looked down. Only one line.

"It says I'm not pregnant," she said.

"Should we wait five more minutes?" House asked, peering at it.

"Okay."

They waited more.

She looked at it.

"I guess I'm really not pregnant. Probably just stress. Or. . .I dunno, perimenopause."

House looked at her.

"You're relieved. . . right?" he said.

"Right," she said half-heartedly. "You?"

"Yeah," he said.

And they both looked down.


End file.
